


Zombie Texting Love Sick Thing

by squeemonster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dean/Cassie is only referred to sparingly and they break up soon after, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeemonster/pseuds/squeemonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins with a wedding, a text, and a whole lot of zombies. It ends with a cat, the flu, and a better-late-than-never kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was (partially) inspired by a true story I read on Buzzfeed, believe it or not. A bit of the dialogue and first texts are pulled from that. And this fic would not exist if it weren't for a certain someone (you know who you are) messaging me saying that article should be the beginning of a fluffy Destiel fic.

Across the crowded dance floor, he’s a vision of golden-brown hair, tan skin, and blinding smiles, all wrapped up in a black suit with pants that have no right to hug his ass so snugly.

Castiel first spotted him across the aisle earlier that afternoon, and from the moment his eyes found the man, he was lost. Now that he’s remembering the skip of _want_ his heart made, it occurs to him how fortunate it is that he didn’t have any part to play in the wedding. He can’t stop his wince as he imagines himself stumbling and fumbling along, embarrassing himself and ruining the service and reception. The mental picture suddenly seems so real and mortifying that he has to fist his hands and remind himself Becky married the nervous Chuck without a hitch, so to speak.

Castiel had watched the man from then on, watched as he walked up the aisle, spoke a few words to fewer people, and walked outside. Castiel had sighed, _ships-in-the-night_ , but thankfully his concern proves unjustified when the man turns up at the wedding party down the street an hour later. The reception is being held in the huge backyard of Becky’s parents’ estate, and the giant tent set up with dance floor and fairy lights feels dreary and boring to Castiel until the man swaggers in and strides by. When he comes into Castiel’s sights again, everything feels brighter and more alive, and to Castiel’s dismay, his heart begins to race with anxiety.

Or maybe it’s excitement? It’s been so long since Castiel met someone he’s attracted to that he wouldn’t be surprised if he has forgotten what it feels like. “Met” isn’t even the correct word, either; it’s not like he has actually spoken to the man, or that he even knows Castiel exists and is watching him from afar.

Castiel briefly considers asking the happy bride who the beautiful man is, but immediately squashes the thought. Years of working alongside Becky have established her as the least subtle person he knows, and given how desperate she’s been to set him up with someone, he’s sure her exuberance will find a way to embarrass him.

He watches as the man leads a woman onto the dance floor. She’s not his date, Castiel is fairly certain, because he left the church alone and arrived alone at the reception. The man gyrates his hips to the beat of the song, and laughs when his dance partner blushes and pushes him away. He’s a good dancer, and Castiel smiles, charmed by the way the light catches the mischief in the man’s eyes.

Castiel has to find a way to talk to him. But small talk is the work of the devil, as far as he’s concerned. He’s never been able to understand how others can do it so effortlessly. And introductions…well, there are several reasons why Castiel has so few people in his life, and that’s one of them.

So he continues to watch the man from a distance throughout the night. He watches as the man jovially talks to so many of the guests, watches as he dances with several other women (but never a slow dance, Castiel notices), watches as he sits at his table and eats his filet mignon (Castiel is pleased to note they chose the same meal, which of course means they are meant for each other), while chatting happily with his table mates. Castiel watches him as the wedding guests begin to leave, one by one; and as he becomes aware of the exodus, his heart constricts tighter and tighter with the worry that the man will leave without ever knowing Castiel exists.

Castiel’s growing panic crests into a weak bravado as he makes a decision, and he helps the timid bravado grow some muscle by impulsively swallowing the dregs from every champagne flute abandoned at his empty table before the waiters can grab them for themselves under the pretense of cleaning up. Once he can feel the alcohol start to fuzzy things up, he grabs a napkin and pulls out a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket.

Five minutes later, he walks himself over to the man’s table, legs shaky and heart stuck in his throat. He stands next to the man’s chair for a moment, working up the courage to say something to grab his attention. When the man suddenly looks up at him, Castiel feels a stir of panic and a desire to flee, but he digs his heels in and forces himself to open his mouth.

“What’s your name?” he asks awkwardly, wanting for all the world to melt into the floor and never be seen again.

The man’s brow furrows, and he opens and closes his mouth once before replying. “Dean,” he says, voice deep and gruff. Castiel likes that voice a lot. “What’s yours?” the man, _Dean_ , asks before Castiel can say anything else.

“Castiel,” he answers, and, emboldened by the fact his voice hasn’t stuttered once, and by the look of interest on Dean’s face, he continues. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve noticed you all night. I wanted to leave this with you before I left.”

Castiel hands Dean the napkin on which he wrote his phone number, and quickly walks out without looking back.

Once outside and clear of any onlookers, he promptly vomits in the bushes of the nearby garden, as the champagne and nerves decide they don’t play well together.

***************************************

The following morning, Castiel wakes groggy but thankfully not hungover. He waits to check his phone until after he’s showered and had coffee, and splurged on a bagel. He’s convinced himself that if Dean does text him, he definitely won’t do it so soon after last night. Even though Castiel tends to ignore or be oblivious to dating codes in his own behavior, he is at least aware of what the rest of dating culture tends to do, and he knows it’s considered desperate to call or text so soon after meeting.

Which is why he’s surprised to find a new text message from an unknown number waiting for him when he finally checks his phone. His excitement over finding it is soon replaced with disappointment as he reads:

> _Hey, this is Dean from the wedding. I just wanted to let you know that I actually have a girlfriend, but I thought it was really brave what you did, coming up to me like that. Keep it up!_

Castiel hides his face in his hands for a moment. He’s embarrassed, but at the same time he’s grateful that the man, _Dean_ , is being so gracious about it. He didn’t have to text Castiel at all, yet he took the time to inform him of his situation but still compliment him. Castiel considers whether he should reply or what he should say, until he finally comes up with a response:

> _Hello, Dean. I appreciate you responding. It took me a very long time to work up the courage to approach you. Given my awkwardness, I was certain I wouldn’t hear from you again, so thank you again. Your girlfriend is a very lucky woman._

Castiel hits send on his phone, and sets it back down on the desk. He stares out the window for a few seconds, trying his best to not feel the sting of disappointment. He should have known better than to get his hopes up or to get attached to some random stranger, but watching the man all night, he couldn’t help but feel a pull towards him. There had been something about him that just felt so familiar and right—but it isn’t meant to be, no matter how it felt last night. It was probably just the setting that made him feel so… _attached_. Leave it to a wedding to make people want to find love in unlikely places.

Castiel shakes his head and attempts to pull himself out of his fruitless gloom, but as he stands up from his desk, his phone pings again with another text message. Surprised, Castiel opens it to find:

> _Thanks! And do keep it up—it’s so much better to live your life without the regrets of not doing those types of things even if they’re scary at the time. I wish you the best and know you’ll find someone soon. Have a great week! :)_

Castiel stares at the screen, a smile finding its way across his face. He hadn’t been expecting Dean to reply again, and especially not with such nice words.

 _Thank you, you too :)_ , he texts back, and suddenly he doesn’t feel so embarrassed anymore. He feels proud of himself for taking that chance. Because Dean is right: life is too short for being too scared to take risks like that. And even though he’ll never see Dean again, at least he knows that the other man is out there, living his life and being a good person. If there’s one of him out there, surely there will be another like him…one that might like Castiel this time, right?

He goes to take a shower, and drags his mind away from the man from the party, forcing himself to think about all the chores he needs to get done that day. Soon, he gets swept up in his activities, and he doesn’t give Dean much thought at all for quite a while.

***************************************


	2. Chapter 2

A month goes by, during which Castiel becomes busier and busier. The last month of school always goes by in a blur for him; just because the kids he teaches are too young to take end-of-year finals doesn’t mean he still doesn’t have extra tests and activities to plan and grade. Anyone who claims teaching first graders is easier than middle- or high-school kids clearly has never seen a classroom full of seven year olds with spring fever.

And then suddenly it’s over: another school year finished, another batch of kids passed on to second grade. But as much as Castiel loves having his summers free to sleep in and do whatever he pleases, that first week of summer break is always a period of adjustment. He has to force himself not to worry about his students anymore; has to remember not to set his alarm each night, since he doesn’t have anywhere to go first thing in the morning. He still wakes early enough most mornings to go for a jog before the summer heat makes it unbearable, but once his jog and shower and breakfast are taken care of, he makes himself kick back on the couch for an hour or two to get some casual reading in. It’s a luxury of spare time that always takes some getting used to, but it’s worth the struggle.

He has considered getting a second job to pass away the summer days, but the thought never was very appealing for him. His rent is reasonable, and he has no large debts to be concerned about, so he figures he deserves a summer of free time to do whatever he wants for once.

One night, less than a week into summer break, Castiel receives a text from a number that seems familiar, though it isn’t one he can link to a friend. The person doesn’t identify themselves, yet the words they use make it seem as if they know each other:

> _Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding about s2 of TWD this shit is crazy_

Castiel stares at his phone for several minutes, confused. It’s obviously someone who texted a wrong number, and he considers just ignoring it but his boredom and curiosity get the better of him.

_I’m sorry, who is this?_ , he texts back, and waits for the reply. He doesn’t have to wait long.

> _Oh shit, I’m sorry! I meant to text someone else, I hate this stupid phone_

Castiel waits a few more seconds, and is about to point out that the person didn’t answer his question when his phone buzzes again.

> _Sorry, this is Dean btw. From Chuck and Becky’s wedding_

Castiel’s breath hitches. He _knew_ he should recognize that number from somewhere, but he’s just been so busy, and it’s been so long since the wedding. 

_Hello, Dean_ , he replies, not knowing what else to say.

> Dean: _Hi :)_

Castiel tries and fails to not let the smiley emoticon wake up the butterflies in his stomach. The man obviously likes to make use of his smileys. Castiel wonders if he should let Dean off the hook now, since the text was by mistake and he probably doesn’t want to talk to him or know what to say, but before he can say goodnight to end it, his phone buzzes again.

> Dean: _So how are you? Been to any good weddings lately? ___

Castiel grins despite himself.

> Castiel: _No, no more weddings as of yet. And I’ve been fine. You?_

The reply comes fast.

> Dean: _I’ve been good, man. Same ol same ol_

Castiel wants to point out that he doesn’t know Dean, and therefore has no idea what “same ol” even is for him, but he goes with something else:

> Castiel: _What do s2 and TWD mean?_

> Dean: _Heh s2 means season 2 and TWD is The Walking Dead. The tv show_

Castiel bites at his lip, worried at how he’ll come off when he buzzes back, _ah yes I believe I’ve heard of that_.

> Dean: _You *believe* you’ve heard of that?! Holy shit, I think you’re the first person I’ve met who’s not sure they’ve at least HEARD of TWD_

Castiel sighs.

> Castiel: _I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a TV watcher. And when I do I usually watch documentaries._

Well, if the whole sexual orientation thing hasn’t stopped them from being the perfect match, Castiel is pretty sure his lack of pop culture addiction has put the plug in it once and for all.

> Dean: _So what do you do in your spare time then? Other than go to weddings ;)_

Damn that winking smiley.

> Castiel: _I read. And do a lot of hiking. Things of that nature. I don’t tend to have a lot of spare time during the school year tho_

> Dean: _The school year? You a teacher?_

> Castiel: _Yes, I teach first grade_

> Dean: _Whoa. At least you won’t have to worry about anybody being “Hot for Teacher” right? ;D_

Castiel squints at his phone.

> Castiel: _I’m afraid I don’t understand that reference, either_

> Dean: _Dude! Only one of the top 10 songs of the eighties! Van Halen, you heard of them?_

Castiel smiles at that.

> Castiel: _OK yes, they had a fondness for tight pants and Panama, correct?_

> Dean: _Ha ha yeah they did, Castiel. :D Hey, can I call you Cas, is that cool? I’m only asking cuz I have a tendency to give people nicknames, so I figured I’d ask before I just did it without thinking_

Castiel stares at the screen, confused. This sounds like Dean is insinuating that they’ll be talking more than tonight, but he can’t imagine what they’d even have to talk about or why. He considers this for so long that Dean texts him again.

> Dean: _It’s cool if you don’t like the nickname…_

> Cas: _No no, it’s fine! A few others call me Cas, I don’t mind it_

He hesitates before adding:

> Cas: _:)_

> Dean: _OK cool. Look man I’m about to head off to bed. It’s been good talking to ya tho_

Castiel’s stomach drops, and then he gets angry at himself for enjoying this text conversation a little too much. Dean is straight and not interested in him that way, and he needs to stop any feelings other than friendship that he may still have.

> Cas: _Yes, Dean, I’ve enjoyed our talk. Good night_

> Dean: _Night man. Have a good one :)_

For a heterosexual man, Dean uses emoticons entirely too much.

***************************************

The following morning, Castiel sleeps in a little later than he’d planned, but since he has nowhere to be, he doesn’t feel guilty. He skips his morning jog, as the early summer humidity has kicked in and the thought of sweating through the mugginess makes him want to take a swim instead.

He grabs his swim shorts and a beach towel, and heads to the pool. One of his favorite things about this apartment complex is the Olympic-sized pool. He gave up a larger apartment and more closet space for this pool, and he’s never regretted it. He ignores the other swimmers in the area as he does his laps, and allows his mind to wander to last night.

He enjoyed talking with Dean, more than he would have thought possible, given how different they seem to be, but he knows it’s probably best if the text conversation was just a one-time thing. He fears that if he does become friends with Dean, his own feelings will be too obviously non-platonic, and that way lies heartbreak. 

He tries to get his mind on other topics as he makes his last laps in the pool. He wouldn’t mind staying longer and getting some sun and fresh air, but just as he’s considering that, a mom walks through the gate door with three small children in tow, two of them screaming and begging for candy. Castiel deals enough with that at work, so he decides to take advantage of his freedom, climbs out of the pool, and makes his way back to his apartment.

After quickly making a sandwich and salad for lunch, Castiel sits down with his latest mystery thriller. But try as he might, he can’t seem to concentrate, and ends up reading the same page four times before throwing it down on the couch. He glances around his living room, feeling restless but not sure why or how to remedy the feeling. 

He briefly considers calling a friend, but he doesn’t really _have_ many friends, or at least not ones he’d normally call out of the blue just to talk. There’s Becky, but she’s still suffering from wedded bliss and probably won't be on-hand as much as she was for chatting or nights out. Gabriel is off on another of his business trips to South America somewhere, and who knows when he’ll return. And Castiel remembers from the last time he spoke with Alfie that he works daytime on Wednesdays at the bookstore, so he’s not an option, either.

Castiel has lived the majority of his life as a solitary person, and hasn’t minded it—in fact, most of the time he enjoys it. He’s never been one for small talk, and what he considers to be comfortable silences tend to make others uncomfortable. But there are those very rare days when loneliness seems to rise up from someplace inside him, inciting melancholia and an ache that he can’t ignore. This seems to be one of those days.

He stares at his hands in his lap, wondering what it feels like to be the type of person who is comfortable enough in his own skin to be comfortable around others. To be able to bond with people and just _hang out_ without being awkward, to understand their pop culture references and jargon, and be able to joke easily with them and high five them without messing it up.

Brooding will do him no good though, it never does. So he shakes his head, tries to dislodge the thoughts from his mind, and stands up. He stretches for a moment, notices his car keys on the tiny table by the door, and suddenly realizes exactly what he needs to do. He needs to make himself feel better, and the lemon cookies and frozen lattes at the coffee shop by the bookstore usually seem to do the trick. Plus he can stop by the bookstore, buy himself a new book, and maybe chat with Alfie, if he’s not too busy.

An hour later, his stomach stuffed with lemon cookies and frozen mocha latte, Castiel drifts up and down the aisles at the bookstore. He finds Alfie restocking the magazines near the back of the store.

“Hey, Cas!” Alfie exclaims, his exuberance always taking Castiel by surprise. Becky had told Castiel once that Alfie had a crush on him, but Castiel disagrees. He believes it to be more of a brotherly kind of hero worship, especially given that Castiel is pretty sure that Alfie is heterosexual, although painfully awkward. He makes Castiel look like a rock star in comparison.

“Hello, Alfie,” Castiel smiles, as he takes a seat in a chair near the magazine rack. “Been busy today?” 

“Yeah, lots of moms with kids coming in now school’s out,” Alfie says. “Thank God I’m not working the children’s section today.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything in reply, just watches as Alfie continues sorting and stacking magazines for a few minutes, happy to enjoy the muted sounds of the bookstore. Alfie glances at him over his shoulder.

“Been enjoying your summer break so far?”

Castiel nods. “Yes, it’s been very relaxing.” He looks to his right when he sees movement over in the media section, and the books on film and TV remind him of his text conversation with Dean last night. “Have you heard of a TV show called The Walking Dead?”

Alfie snorts. “‘Course I have. That show is amazing. Why?”

“Just was thinking of maybe watching it,” Castiel answers. He looks back to find Alfie staring at him, mouth open. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Uhhh, no reason, I guess. Just it doesn’t really seem like your type of show,” Alfie says. “I mean, you don’t watch much TV at all, do you?”

Castiel stares at the floor. It irks him that Alfie would say that; they've never discussed what TV shows they watch, so how could he know what type of show Castiel would like? “Maybe I should start.”

Alfie shrugs. “There are worse things you could choose to do with your spare time, I guess. Just don’t jump into it in the middle of the series. If you’re going to watch The Walking Dead, you have to do it right and start at the beginning.”

Frowning, Castiel says, “How would I go about watching the older episodes?”

“Netflix, Cas,” Alfie grins. “Netflix will become your new best friend.”

After buying a book recommendation and saying goodbye to Alfie, Castiel drives back to his apartment and pulls up Netflix on his laptop. 

There are five seasons of The Walking Dead available to stream online. It feels a bit overwhelming to think of watching that many episodes, especially of something as gruesome as a zombie apocalypse. But really, it’s not like Castiel has anything better to do (not true, but he’s choosing to ignore that niggling part of his brain telling him to do something more constructive with his time), and he’s been feeling a need to do something different and out of the ordinary lately. 

If he’s honest with himself, he’s been feeling that way since the night of Chuck and Becky’s wedding, when he saw Dean for the first time. Something about mustering up the courage to do something so unlike him has him wanting to do other things out of the ordinary. And yes, a small part of the reason for that is because of what Dean said about him being impressed by how brave that was. It _was_ brave of him to go up to a complete stranger and give him his number. It was definitely by far the bravest thing Castiel has ever done in his predictable, mundane life. And the adrenaline rush from it has him craving more.

He hits “play” to start the first episode of The Walking Dead, and settles in to watch.

Within fifteen minutes, he’s hooked.

***************************************

Castiel finishes season one before going to bed that night, and he has so many thoughts and questions about the show that the temptation to text Dean is almost overwhelming. He tells himself not to do it tonight. If the temptation is still there in the morning after a good sleep, then he’ll allow himself to do so.

When he wakes the next morning, the only thing more tempting than texting Dean is starting season two. But he forces himself to stick to his morning schedule first. He refuses to let a TV show keep him from his normal routine. He rushes through his morning jog, takes what is probably the fastest shower of his life, and scarfs down a quick breakfast of cereal and fruit before grabbing his laptop and settling down on the couch.

He grabs his phone off the coffee table, and briefly studies Dean’s phone number, right there at the top of his recent callers list. He stares at it for a moment, then scrolls and types in Dean’s name to label the phone number as his. He hesitates only for another brief moment before deciding to bite the bullet. Friends text each other all the time about TV shows, so it should be no big deal.

> Cas: _I watched season one of TWD and am about to start season two_

Castiel stares at the screen of his phone. It remains silent, no incoming texts. 

_This is entirely your fault_ , he sends, and then he waits a few minutes, reminding himself that it doesn’t mean anything if Dean doesn’t answer right away. He curses to himself, throws the phone down next to his leg on the couch, and hits “play.” 

An hour and a half and two episodes later, Castiel notices the light blinking on his phone, indicating a message. He must have been so engrossed in the show that he didn’t hear the notification. When he turns his phone on, he finds a reply from Dean:

> Dean: _Whoa, I thought you only watched docs?_

> Cas: _Well, I suppose one could say this is a documentary of sorts. Of what would happen during a zombie apocalypse_

> Dean: _Ha! Touche :D_

Castiel grins at the smiley.

> Cas: _I find this show very engrossing. The complexities of how to keep one’s morality in the face of anarchy, violence, and certain death is fascinating_

> Dean: _Heh, yeah, that and the blood and guts is cool_

Castiel laughs, and responds:

> Cas: _LOL_

> Dean: _Did you really just LOL me? That’s not very school teacher-y of you, Professor Castiel ;D_

Castiel pauses for a moment. That sounds a bit like flirting, but he can’t tell for sure. He never has been very good at figuring out if someone is flirting or not: all the coyness and subterfuge usually soars over his head. He decides to assume it wasn’t flirting, just to be safe.

> Cas: _I’m sorry, but I really did laugh out loud at your text_

He adds a _;D_ just because Dean seems to be so free and comfortable with using the smileys, and is pleased when Dean replies:

> _LOL alrighty then ;D_

They don’t text anything for a few minutes, and Castiel is starting to think maybe their conversation ended without acknowledgement when Dean texts:

> _Sorry, got distracted. Look I’m about to go back on duty, but I can text you later tonight, if you wanna talk TWD, I mean_

> Cas: _On duty?_

> Dean: _Yeah I’m a paramedic. We don’t get much of a lunch break, but I take a few minutes when I can_

Castiel is surprised by this information, not because he doesn’t think Dean could be a paramedic, but just because that’s such an impressive job.

When Castiel doesn’t reply, Dean texts again:

> _So, I’ll text you later?_

> Cas: _Oh yes, I’m sorry. Yes, that would be nice. Have a safe work day_

> Dean: _LOL it’s a shift, Cas. It’s called a shift. And thanks, man. Don’t puke with all those zombie blood and guts you’ll be seeing ;)_

> Cas: _I’ll do my best_

Castiel sets his phone down, and hits “play” again on his laptop, a faint smile on his face that has nothing to do with zombies.

***************************************

That evening, Castiel turns the notification volume up as high it will go so that he won’t miss when Dean texts him. But the text never comes.

Castiel figures he shouldn’t be too disappointed or even surprised by it, and he’s not, really. It’s no big deal if a friend neglects to text you when they say they will. Castiel himself would never do that, but he knows he’s not like most people. He wonders if he really should consider Dean as a friend, at this point, though. They’re probably more just acquaintances, by standard definitions.

He finishes up season two by lunchtime the following day. Instead of immediately starting season three though, he decides to do some cleaning. The action makes him feel better; it clears his mind as he clears away the junk pile from his stack of mail, and gives him time to reflect on the show. 

As he’s considering what to do for dinner that afternoon, he hears his phone buzz with a message. When he turns it on, he finds a text from Gabriel:

> _Hey cuz!_

Castiel sighs with disappointment that it’s not from Dean, although he is glad to see that his cousin is alive and well, since he’s not heard from him in months.

> Cas: _Hello, Gabriel. Are you back in town?_

> Gabriel: _Yep I got back yesterday. Wanna go out and grab a bite tonight and catch up?_

> Cas: _That would be great. Meet me here around 7pm?_

> Gabriel: _Perfect! Can’t wait to show you my Brazilian!_

Castiel really, really hopes his cousin doesn’t mean what immediately came to mind.

***************************************

Three hours later, Castiel is sitting in a booth of his favorite restaurant across from Gabriel and his Brazilian girlfriend, Kali. Castiel can’t even pretend to be surprised that Gabriel came home from a business trip with a beautiful goddess of a woman, but he’s amused by just how much she has him wrapped around her finger.

“As humorous as you seem to find it to refer to me as your ‘Brazilian,’ I’d appreciate it if you refrained from doing so from now on,” Kali says coolly. 

Gabriel snorts. “Awww, but honey bunny, we did meet in Brazil, so it’s at least half right.”

“By that logic, I can call you my Brazilian, as well.”

“Sure, whatever floats your boat,” Gabriel grins, clinking his wine glass against Castiel’s. “So, how’s my favorite cousin been? Flunked any kids lately?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I don’t flunk first graders, Gabriel,” he says. “Or, I guess I _could_ technically, but it would only be in an extreme circumstance.”

He’s about to start offering examples of an extreme circumstance, but notices that Gabriel and Kali are in no way paying any attention to what he’s saying, so he clears his throat. “How was Brazil, anyway? Did your business there go well?”

Gabriel stops kissing Kali’s hand long enough to answer. “Yep, all’s well in the advertising world of Brazil! I may have to go back in a few weeks just to check up on things and to help Kali pack up, but other than that I shouldn’t need to be living down there for any length of time.”

As annoyed as Castiel gets with Gabriel, he’s relieved to hear that his cousin won’t be moving out of the country anytime soon. It’s nice to have his only family worth talking to nearby. 

“So really, how’s things with you, Cas?” Gabriel asks, pausing to take a sip from the wine glass their waiter just refilled. “Anything new?”

It’s tempting to tell Gabriel about what happened at the wedding, but Castiel doesn’t want to go into all the details because he knows he’d never hear the end of it, so he just says, “Um, well, I sort of made a new friend. I think.”

“Oh really?” Gabriel replies, leaning back in the booth and laying his arm along the back of the seat to wrap around Kali, who remains quiet. “That _is_ something to celebrate! What brought this on?”

Castiel shrugs, hoping the dark lighting of the restaurant hides the flush of his cheeks. “I just, I met him at a…coworker function, and he seemed nice, so…” He lets his words drift off, hoping that Gabriel doesn’t pick up on his hesitance to say more, but no such luck.

“It’s a guy, huh? Is he cute?” Gabriel smirks.

Castiel refuses to meet his gaze, choosing instead to take several big gulps of his water, which he belatedly realizes is a mistake because Gabriel can sense nervousness like a shark can smell chum in the water from miles away.

Sure enough, his cousin raises a speculative eyebrow. “So, is this a _friends with benefits_ kind of thing, or are you dating or what?”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Castiel replies. “He’s straight, so we’re just friends.”

Gabriel’s smile disappears and is replaced by a concerned look. If Castiel were a betting man, he’d say it was a look of pity. “Oh, Cas. Don’t do this. You know better.”

Castiel does his best to feign innocence, but he never was a very good actor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gabriel.”

“Yes, you do,” Gabriel retorts, a bit too forcefully. “You’ve been through this before, and I had to pick up the pieces after Michael. You don’t fall for a straight guy, Cas. You’re never gonna convince him to bat for the other team, no matter how nice you are to him or how much of his homework you do.”

Castiel huffs. “We’re not in high school anymore. There is no homework to be done. I’m fine, Gabe.”

Gabriel shakes his head, sadly. “Doesn’t matter if there’s homework or not, the outcome will still be the same. You can’t fight destiny, Cas, and straight guys are destined to be on the straight and narrow forever, just like you’re destined to always be blinded and made uncharacteristically stupid by your heart.”

“I’m bored by this conversation,” Kali interjects. “Perhaps you should allow your cousin to make his own mistakes and realize his own destiny. I want more breadsticks.”

Castiel decides he rather likes Gabriel’s Brazilian girlfriend.

***************************************

Later that evening, Castiel is in bed reading and trying to forget what Gabriel said. It’s not true, Castiel isn’t destined to get his heart broken by Dean. It _is_ possible for him to be friends with someone he was initially attracted to. He just has to force himself to not focus so much on and pick apart everything Dean says. Dean is a very nice man: that much is evident from the fact he’d taken the time to let Castiel down easily while complimenting him on his bravery for approaching him in the first place. He wouldn’t intentionally lead Castiel on, so Castiel just has to get in the habit of assuming that every interaction they have, no matter how flirty it may feel, is on a strictly friends basis.

Castiel sighs, setting his book on the nightstand and turning off the light, since there’s no point in continuing to try to read. And really, there’s no point in tearing himself apart about this Dean thing either, when odds are he’ll never hear from the man again. If Dean wanted to talk to him he would have texted last night when he said he would.

Sleep eludes him, as he tosses fretfully in bed for an hour. He finally gives up, gets out of bed, and stumbles into the kitchen to make himself a mug of chamomile tea. He stares over at his laptop as he waits for the kettle to heat, deciding he might as well get started on season three of The Walking Dead, since he’s wide awake.

Half an hour into the first episode of season three, Castiel hears his phone buzz from where it’s perched on his desk. He walks over, unplugs it from the charger, and is shocked to find a message from Dean.

> Dean: _Hey man, sorry about last night. Cassie got back into town early and we had dinner and I completely forgot_

Castiel stares at his phone, brow furrowed in confusion, before he sends back, _Cassie?_

> Dean: _Heh yeah, that’s my girlfriend. Crazy that your names are similar, right? :D_

> Cas: _Ah ok yes, that is an odd coincidence_

> Dean: _Hope I didn’t wake you, I can’t sleep sometimes, and I was lying here thinking and remembered I was supposed to text you_

Castiel ignores the insinuation that Dean was lying in bed thinking about him.

> Cas: _No, I was having trouble sleeping as well. I was watching the first episode of s3 TWD_

> Dean: _Oh man, you’re almost caught up with me! What do you think of the prison?_

> Cas: _I think it’s tactically a smart place for the group, but I worry at how it will affect their morale. They will literally be prisoners of the zombies, and that could break their spirit_

> Dean: _Damn. And here I was just thinking about how convenient that guard tower will be for lookouts ;D_

> Cas: _Don’t sell yourself short, Dean. I hadn’t even considered how helpful that tower will be yet_

Castiel doesn’t like seeing how quick Dean is to put himself down. He’s obviously a very intelligent person, otherwise he could never be a paramedic. He considers pointing that out to the other man, but stops himself. He’s pretty sure male friends, especially ones that are new, don’t say things of that nature to each other.

This being friends with a straight man you’re also attracted to may turn out to be very tricky.

They continue to text for another half-hour before Dean claims to finally be getting tired. Before they sign off, Dean says _Talk to ya later_ , but Castiel stops himself from asking when. At least he’s been able to decipher his own behavior enough so far to know what’s proper and what’s not. He only hopes he can continue to censor himself when needed.

***************************************


	3. Chapter 3

Over the following few weeks, they text each other on a regular basis, but not as frequent as Castiel would like. He’s getting better about that, though, about _needing_ to talk to Dean. As time goes by, it gets easier to ignore the butterflies in his stomach every time he hears his phone buzz.

They start off texting just about The Walking Dead, but sometimes—and those times are becoming more frequent—they talk about other things. Mostly about Dean’s shifts at work, some of the more crazy work runs he’s had to go on, or about what Castiel has done that day. They eventually start to reveal little things about their lives or their pasts, such as Castiel’s lack of close family members other than Gabriel, the fact that Dean has a younger brother in law school that he likes to tease mercilessly but in actuality he’s so proud of that he’s fit to burst most days. That Dean’s parents died in a house fire when he was six, but he still had a somewhat happy childhood being raised by a family friend named Ellen.

Castiel discovers that Dean has an unhealthy relationship with his car, although Dean swears it’s perfectly normal to talk to your car in soothing tones and call her “Baby.” His favorite food is cheeseburgers, and his favorite drink is beer, and _none of that fancy hipster shit, gimme the cheapest kind you got on tap that’ll put hair on your chest, and I’m a happy camper_.

Throughout all their chats, it continues to be obvious that they are just friends, but Castiel doesn’t mind it anymore. He’s just happy to have Dean in his life as a friend, albeit just someone to text with. Dean genuinely makes him laugh, and he makes him think and see things from a completely different perspective than what he’s used to, and it’s exhilarating. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, and he always looks forward to and enjoys their talks.

At first, he doesn’t initiate their chats very often, deciding he’ll let Dean take the lead on when or how often they talk because he’s fearful of overstepping the boundaries of a normal friendship. But soon, he can’t stop himself from texting when he thinks of something he wants to tell Dean, or hears something he thinks Dean might enjoy, or sees something that he wanted to share. Those first few texts, he worries about Dean’s response, and keeps expecting him to text something like _Back off_ but Dean never does. Dean just laughs at his jokes, and asks more questions, and makes Castiel feel like maybe he’s not such the odd man out after all; or if he is, maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

***************************************

One morning as Castiel steps out the door to go for his jog, he spots a bit of orange fur scurrying away from him. It crawls under the dumpster down the street from his building, and when he gets on his knees to look for it he finds a very frightened-looking cat staring back at him. He calls to it softly, tries to beckon it towards him, but the cat just stays curled up in a ball to the other side of the dumpster. It looks hungry and feral, but he can’t think of anything else to do for it, so he stands up and goes for his run.

A few days later, he spies the cat again, this time sitting on a wooden fence bordering the apartment complex. Castiel heads towards it, but when it spots him it takes off into the field on the other side of the road. Castiel says a silent prayer of thanks that his complex is out in the middle of nowhere and not near a busy street, and then he goes on his way.

The next day, the cat is lounging in the grass by the dumpster, and Castiel is able to get close enough to snap a picture of it with his phone. Without even thinking about it, he texts the photo to Dean without an explanation attached. 

Dean replies immediately.

> Dean: _Um, is there something you’re trying to tell me, Cas? :D_

> Cas: _This cat has been lurking around my apartment for at least a week but it won’t let me get close enough to pet it_

> Dean: _Why is there a giant finger smudging the corner of the pic? Are you trying to squish it to death?_

> Cas: _It’s my finger, Dean. I had to rush to take the photo because I was afraid the cat would run off_

> Dean: _Does it belong to somebody in your complex?_

> Cas: _I don’t know, and it can't tell me_

> Dean: _Interrogate the cat, buddy_

Castiel rolls his eyes.

> Cas: _I don’t think anyone here owns it. I can’t tell for sure, but I don’t think it’s wearing a collar. I think it might be feral_

> Dean: _You need to be careful around feral cats, Cas. All kinds of diseases people can get from them, plus they’ll bite the shit out of you_

> Cas: _Well, I’d like to keep my shit in me until I’m ready to lose it, so I’ll be careful_

> Dean: _LOL_

> Cas: _;D_

Castiel has found his use of emoticons to become easier and easier the more he does it.

He doesn’t see the orange cat every day, but when he does he’s able to get a step or two closer each time. And when he does, he tries to take a picture of it with his phone to send to Dean. More often than not, the picture will have a part of his finger as a shadow lurking in a corner, and when it does Dean never fails to point it out and tease him about his photography skills, or lack thereof. Castiel acts exasperated, but secretly he kind of likes it when Dean teases him, especially when he calls him “Professor,” which he started doing early on in their friendship and seemed to take a liking to it. Castiel regularly reminds him that an elementary school teacher can hardly be considered a professor, but Dean ignores him.

One night, Dean texts Castiel unexpectedly. Castiel is surprised by it because he remembers Dean saying he was taking Cassie out to dinner once she got back into town from her work trip. Dean never talks about his girlfriend much, but Castiel was able to glean a little bit of information about her. She’s a newspaper reporter, met when she was writing a story on an accident Dean had covered as a paramedic, and they’ve been dating for a couple years. Castiel always wants to ask more, but he gets the sense that Dean likes to keep certain things in his life private, and that’s one of them.

> Dean: _So, I figured out the name for your cat ___

> Cas: _Okay…I didn’t realize I was in need of a name for the cat that isn’t mine, but what’s the name?_

> Dean: _PROFESSOR CATSTIEL_

> Cas: _No_

> Dean: _YES_

> Cas: _Leave me alone_

> Dean: _NO, IT’S PURRFECT. GET IT?_

> Cas: _You can’t see me, but I am actually hitting my head on my desk right now_

> Dean: _LOLOL_

> Cas: _I thought you were supposed to be having dinner with Cassie right now?_

> Dean: _Change of plans. Hey what was the name of that book series you were reccing to me the other day? I’ve been in the mood for a good book_

> Cas: _The Harry Dresden series. The first book starts off slow, but the next several are very good_

> Dean: _OK cool. Look, I’m beat so I’m gonna head off to bed ___

> Cas: _Me, as well. Good night, Dean_

> Dean: _Night, Cas ;)_

Those winking emoticons will be the death of Castiel one day.

***************************************

The next day, it’s too hot for a jog or even for a swim, so Castiel decides to visit the bookstore and coffee shop. He’s disappointed to find Alfie not working, but before too long he finds himself so engrossed in a book he picked up on a whim that he sits down in the lounge and begins reading the first chapter. He forgets about going to the coffee shop, and even forgets where he is for a bit until he hears a voice calling out to him.

“Cas? Is that you?”

Castiel looks up from his book, the gruff voice a surprise in how it feels both familiar and unfamiliar, and the pair of eyes that meet his makes the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“Dean?” He awkwardly drops the book in his hands and stands up in shock, not sure what to do with himself.

“Ha ha, hey man!” Dean grins and reaches a hand forward, and Castiel grips it into his own for a firm handshake. Dean pulls him into a one-armed hug, patting him on the back hard several times before letting him go. “I got off shift early and came in to buy that book you recced!” 

They stand there staring at each other for several beats, Castiel not knowing what to say or finding the breath to say it. Dean is wearing dark blue slacks and a matching t-shirt with the word PARAMEDIC across the front. The shirt hugs his shoulders and biceps snugly, and Castiel does his best not to notice.

“This is weird, right?” Dean says, acknowledging the tension with a smirk on his face.

“So weird,” Castiel agrees, nodding his head. “I um, I was just here looking for a new book. To buy. And, uh, to have some coffee.”

Dean looks down at Castiel’s hands, and then at the table next to his chair. “Did you already have the coffee?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, I hadn’t gotten around to that yet.”

Dean grins. “Well, I’m gonna go ahead and checkout, and I was thinking about going next door for something to drink too, so you wanna go have some coffee together?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Castiel manages, even though he’s not sure he’ll be able to remain breathing long enough to have a conversation. He’d had no idea just how green Dean’s eyes are.

He follows Dean to the checkout counter, and decides to go ahead and purchase the book he’d been previewing because it’ll give him something to do, and he needs something to do to make him feel less awkward. Then he follows Dean to the coffee shop next door, through the line, and up to the counter, where Dean orders a black coffee and cinnamon roll, and Castiel decides to splurge on a frozen caramel mocha latte and cinnamon roll for himself.

Dean glances at Castiel’s drink and pastry as they take a seat. “Well, if you end up going into insulin shock, at least you’ll have a paramedic on hand to save you,” he jokes, eyes warm and mocking.

Castiel stares pointedly at Dean’s own cinnamon roll. “I’m fairly certain your own roll has just as much sugar in it as mine.”

Dean holds up his hands in surrender. “Hey now, slow your roll hate! It’s the drink that’ll push you over the edge of sugarland, not the pastry. That provides sustenance.” He nods to himself, as if he’s certain that what he says is undeniable truth, and Castiel can’t hold back a chuckle. He’s rewarded with a grin.

“So, uh, how you been, man?” Dean asks, taking a sip from his coffee.

Castiel shoots him a look. “Since last night when we texted? I’ve been fine, Dean.”

Dean laughs, and Castiel notices a nervousness in his voice. “Hey, I’m just trying to make small talk and get us over this awkward hump.”

“I know, Dean. I’m sorry,” Castiel smiles faintly. “I’m not usually very good at face-to-face interactions, as you can obviously tell, I’m sure.”

Dean stares at him for a moment. “I think you’re doing just fine, Cas. It’s me that’s all fidgety.” He looks at his coffee cup before taking another sip. “I probably shouldn’t be drinking this coffee considering how much I drank already on my shift this morning, but I can’t resist a good cup of joe.”

“How was your shift?” Castiel asks.

Dean shrugs. “It was pretty boring, actually, which is why I was drinking so much coffee. Needed to stay awake. And that’s why I took off early. Another guy wanted the extra time, and I was so bored I was about to start practicing putting IVs in my own arm.”

Castiel nods his head in understanding. They sit in silence for several minutes, listening to the music blaring in the coffee shop, and watching people walk by along the sidewalk outside. Castiel worries at first that the silence is awkward, but the longer it goes by the more relaxed he feels. It’s nice, just sitting in someone’s presence without the need to talk.

He tries to sneak a glance at Dean, but finds the man already staring at him. Castiel watches as Dean’s cheeks flush pink, and he can feel his own face turn a bit red, as well. He takes another peek at him, admiring how the pinkness of his cheeks accentuates the color of his eyes. Castiel is quite sure he’s never seen a shade of green like that before.

“What are you doing for dinner?” Castiel hears himself ask before he can think better of it. He wants to smack himself silly, he’s so embarrassed. He’s been down this road before, and he knows where it leads. He’s afraid if he’s not more careful he could ruin their friendship completely.

Dean grimaces. “I promised Sammy I’d meet up with him later. He’s been down in the dumps lately because his girlfriend broke up with him.”

“Ruby?” Castiel asks, remembering the stories Dean has told him about his brother and the woman. At Dean’s nod, Castiel continues, “That’s a good thing, though. She was bad news for him.”

Dean nods again. “That’s what I keep trying to tell him, but he’s still moping and moaning around about it. I’m gonna try to get his mind off of it tonight with a little death and destruction.”

Castiel looks at him, alarmed. “With what?”

Dean laughs when he sees Castiel’s reaction. “Playing video games. He doesn’t get to play much when he’s in school, so I thought I’d take my Xbox to his place with some beer and pizza, and get his mind off it all for a little while.”

Castiel looks at Dean for a moment, unable to hide the fondness he feels. “I think that’s a very nice thing for you to do, Dean.”

Dean ducks his head and rubs his hand along the back of his neck. “Eh, it’s what big brothers are for, I guess. And anything to keep him from running back to her and begging her to take him back.”

They go quiet again, both staring out the window at the late afternoon sunshine. Castiel finishes eating his cinnamon roll, and as he drinks down the last of his latte, Dean wads up his napkin. “I guess it’s about time for me to head out, actually. I need to take a shower before heading over to his place.”

“Of course,” Castiel replies, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

Dean clears his throat, glancing up at Castiel before looking away quickly. “We, uh, we should meet up again, though. Don’t see why we haven’t hung out before, right?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Castiel replies with a smile as they both stand up. “Maybe we could watch an episode or two of The Walking Dead, or something along those lines.”

They both grab their bags from the bookstore and walk out the door. “Yeah, that’d be cool. Maybe I could talk Sammy into joining us too, if he can get his nose out of his law books long enough to meet up.”

Castiel nods, disappointed that Dean doesn’t want to be alone with him but grateful that he’s even suggesting meeting up again at all. “That would be wonderful. I’d love to meet your brother.”

Dean pulls his keys out of his pocket, fidgeting a moment with the keyring before reaching up and slapping Castiel twice on the shoulder. “Okay, man, sounds good. Talk to ya soon!” He meets Castiel’s gaze once more, long enough to shoot him a wink, and then turns and hurries away.

That man’s winks, real life and emoticons, are swiftly becoming problematic.

***************************************

Castiel returns to his apartment, and spends the rest of the day in a haze. Any pretense that he could possibly just be friends with Dean without any romantic feelings have flown straight out the window. Speaking to him face to face, sitting with him and experiencing his presence…it was all more and _better_ than anything he could have imagined.

He hopes for Dean to text or even call him that evening, but he doesn’t expect it, so he’s not too disappointed when it doesn’t happen. He believed Dean when he said he was spending time with his brother, and he knows how much he enjoys and cherishes that time spent with Sam, so it’s no surprise not to hear from him. 

The following morning, Castiel wakes early enough to go for a run at sunrise, and he revels in the feel of the burn in his muscles as he pushes himself further than he’s gone in a while. It’s not as muggy as it usually is for this time of year, so he enjoys the longer run. As he’s walking back home and stretching his muscles out for a cool down, he notices the orange cat on the fence across the lot watching him. He decides to push his luck a bit and takes a step closer, expecting the cat to run away as it usually does, but this time it just sits and stares. Castiel takes another few very slow steps, careful not to make any sudden moves, and still the cat stays put.

Castiel pulls his phone out of his pocket very slowly, thinking surely this will scare the cat off, but it doesn’t. He can hardly breathe, he’s so nervous about finally being this close to the cat. Once he gets within a foot of it, he carefully raises his hand, watching the cat as it eyes him warily. Castiel reaches out, and with the gentlest touch he strokes the fur along the cat’s back with his index and middle fingers. And instead of running away or hissing or biting him, the cat arches its back and leans into Castiel’s touch.

He’s so excited by this development that he almost forgets to take a picture, but when the cat starts purring and butts its head against his hand begging for more affection, Castiel suddenly remembers he needs proof of his success. He holds the phone out as far away as he can and leans over so as to fit both himself and the cat in the photo, and takes the pic as quickly as possible, afraid that the cat will at any moment jump down and run away.

He stays and pets the cat for quite a while, and wonders if he should bring a bowl of water and some food out to it. He starts to walk towards his apartment, and is both equally dismayed and delighted when it jumps from its perch and starts to follow him. He gets to his door, unlocks it, and the cat just slinks right on it like it owns the place.

Castiel sighs. _Well. I guess I might own a cat now_.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, stares at the photo he took outside, and considers not texting it to Dean because he looks more than a little silly in it, but figures what the hell. Friends send silly pictures to each other all the time, right? He sends the photo to Dean:

> Cas: _Meet Professor Catstiel_

Castiel waits only a few seconds before there’s a reply:

> Dean: _YOU FINALLY GOT CLOSE ENOUGH TO PET IT! YOU ARE SUCH A DORK_

Castiel grins and leans against the wall, considering an appropriate reply when Dean texts again:

> _A cute dork, but a dork nonetheless ;)_

Castiel stares at the words for several beats, trying and failing to process their meaning. Did Dean just call him cute? With a winky smiley emoticon? Do male friends do that with each other? He doesn’t remember ever doing that with any of his other male friends, but to be fair, it’s not like he has a lot of friends to begin with.

He looks down as the cat meows and rubs itself against his legs. _Right_ , he thinks. _You need some food and water before I have this meltdown_.

He goes to the kitchen, pours a bowl of water, and opens a can of tuna. He watches with fascination as the cat scarfs the entire contents of the can within about ten seconds before washing it down with almost all the water. It pauses briefly from drinking to scratch energetically behind its ears, and Castiel examines it suspiciously, realizing that it probably needs a full checkup and some flea medication before he gets too attached.

As he’s about to jump in the shower, Castiel hears his phone buzz again, and goes over to find another text from Dean:

> _So how long did the cat let you pet it before it ran away? It didn’t bite you, did it? Cat bites can get pretty nasty_

Castiel snorts.

> Cas: _Actually, it’s curled up on my couch right now_

> Dean: _Ha ha you are such a sucker! I bet that cat had this planned all along_

> Cas: _That would not surprise me at all. As it is, I was just about to jump in the shower so I can take it to a vet. Talk to you soon?_

> Dean: _Sure thing, Professor_

> Cas: _You know if I name it Professor Catstiel, then I won’t know which one of us you’re referring to from now on_

> Dean: _I’m sure we can think of a way around that, Professor ;D_

Sometimes Castiel would like to hunt down the inventor of the emoticon and make them suffer a very slow, very ambiguous death.

***************************************

Two hours later, Castiel and the cat have returned home, clean bill of health, flea medication, and cat food in hand. With the examination, the vet staff discovered the cat was male and neutered, but scanning him for a microchip revealed nothing. The lady at the reception desk was even nice enough to check lost and found sites online for him, but nothing came up for a cat fitting Professor Catstiel’s description.

When Castiel had told the staff his name for him, they barely batted an eye. Apparently, they’d seen and heard stranger things than this.

Castiel locks the cat up in his bathroom for the time being, since he’s heading back out to the store to purchase cat litter and a litter box. He really doesn’t want to start off this relationship cleaning cat urine out of his carpet. He pauses a moment to glance at his phone, and finds another message from Dean:

> Dean: _So has the cat checked out ok?_

> Cas: _Yes, and they scanned him for a microchip and checked the lost and found but couldn’t find an owner_

> Dean: _He might still have one tho. Some people don’t chip their cats or put collars on them_

Castiel sighs. He had considered that, and if the cat tries to go outside and maybe go home, he wouldn’t stop it.

> Cas: _Well if he does, I suppose he has two homes, now_

> Dean: _:D_

Castiel grabs his keys and heads out the door, locking it behind him. He assumes that was the end to their conversation, but as he’s clicking his seatbelt he hears his phone buzz again, and decides to check it before he starts driving.

> Dean: _I can’t wait to meet him_

Castiel smiles, and tries to tell himself that that’s just something people say to be friendly. And they are friends. That’s all. 

Just friendly friends.

***************************************


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel wakes the next morning with an awful headache and a scratchy throat that only gets worse as the morning progresses. At first, he fears it’s a sign that he’s allergic to cats, but when he starts to get chills he realizes he must have the flu. As much as he doesn’t want to be sick, he is at least grateful it happens before the new school year starts in two weeks, because it is a pain to rush to find a substitute teacher while feeling like death warmed over.

By the afternoon, his fever begins to climb, and he develops a dry, hacking cough that becomes so painful he quickly wishes he could just take some heavy-duty sleeping pills and pretend he’s dead for a few hours. He scours his medicine cabinet, thinking he must have some over-the-counter cold or flu medication somewhere, but he can’t find anything, not even a cough drop. As shaky as he feels right now, going out to purchase medication isn’t even an option.

He considers calling Gabriel but his throat hurts so much he texts him instead.

> Cas: _Gabriel, I have the flu. Is there any way you could bring me some flu medication? I’m too sick to leave my apartment_  
> 

It takes twenty impossibly long minutes before his phone buzzes with a reply.

> Gabriel: _No can do, Casanator. I’m in New York on business_  
> 

Castiel buries his face in his pillow, despairing over the thought of having to actually move and go to the store himself. He hears his phone buzz again.

> Gabriel: _Can’t you get someone else to help you? Where’s that weird little coworker of yours?_  
> 

> Cas: _Becky is on one last trip with her new husband before school starts_  
> 

> Gabriel: _What about that guy you met at her wedding? The straight as an arrow one?_  
> 

Castiel stares at his phone. He hadn’t even considered asking Dean for help. It’s tempting, but he really doesn’t want the guy he’s crushing on to see him when he’s in such horrible shape. Even though Dean is straight and they’re only friends, the thought of Dean seeing him with his face all splotchy with fever, his eyes blood-shot and watering, his nose stuffy and dripping, and his voice hoarse from coughing up twelve lungs isn’t tempting at all.

By dinnertime, he decides he wouldn’t care if Tom Hardy himself saw him in this kind of shape as long as he was bringing him relief, and so he sends Dean a text.

> _Dean, I have the flu, and I have no flu medications and I don’t think I can drive myself to the store. Is it too much to ask if you could possibly bring me something? I would of course reimburse you for the gas and the medication_

It’s less than five interminable minutes before the phone buzzes in Castiel’s hand. At first he thinks he must have hallucinated it because it seems that his phone is completely shut off, but then he realizes he was pushing the wrong button. He must even be worse off than he thought, but at least he remembers his password.

> Dean: _What’s your address?_  
> 

Castiel sighs with relief, and types in his address, hoping he’s not so far gone that he gets it wrong.

> Dean: _I’ll be there as soon as I can_  
> 

Castiel rolls over and closes his eyes, his head hurting so much that thankfully he doesn’t worry too much about overstepping any boundaries with Dean. If Dean couldn’t run the errand for him or didn’t want to, surely he would have told him no, right?

He wraps a blanket around his shoulders and carries a pillow and tissue box to the living room where he crawls onto the sofa and falls into a fitful sleep, with Professor Cat curled up at his feet. He wakes to insistent knocking, and looks around, not remembering for a moment where he is or even who he is and what he’s doing here, but when he starts coughing everything slowly comes back to him. He gets up and shuffles to the door, not remembering who to expect on the other side until he opens it up to find Dean.

“Whoa,” Dean says, after staring at him for several beats, eyes wide. “If I was Daryl Dixon, I’d be grabbing my crossbow right about now.”

Castiel opens his mouth to respond, but starts coughing instead. He holds onto the door while his body is wracked with the cough, and finally is able to get himself under enough control to speak. “Do I look that bad?”

Dean snorts. “Let’s just say if you were on set, they wouldn’t need to use much makeup to turn you into a walker.” Castiel opens the door wider to let Dean in and turns around, walking back to the couch. “See, you even got the zombie shuffle down, too,” Dean adds, closing the door behind himself.

Castiel collapses back onto the couch. “Dean, I really do appreciate you helping me. I hated to ask, but I didn’t have anyone else—”

“Hey man, don’t thank me,” Dean interrupts. “I’m glad I could help. Don’t ever hesitate to ask, okay?” He pauses as he notices Professor Cat curled up on the sofa. “Hey, here’s the star of all those photos!” 

Castiel watches as Dean leans over and scritches behind the cat’s ears for a few seconds before straightening back up and giving Castiel a sympathetic look. He holds the bag in his hands out. “You mind if I go into the kitchen and fix some stuff up for you?”

Castiel eyes the bag suspiciously. “What stuff?”

Dean smiles smugly. “Well, I don’t know if you knew this, but paramedics—especially _this_ paramedic—” he points a thumb at himself, “happen to kick ass at taking care of flu patients. I’m gonna get you all set up, don’t you worry.”

Castiel watches as Dean carries his bag into the kitchen and sets it down, looking into various cabinets for supplies. “Dean, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble, I can take care of myself, I just needed something to give me enough relief to sleep and maybe take care of my fever.” He feels guilty now, thinking Dean felt responsible for him.

Dean stares at him over the kitchen island. This is one of those moments Castiel is glad he has such a small apartment with an open floor plan, because there’s no way he has the strength to stand up in the kitchen to try to keep Dean company. “Cas, seriously, it’s no trouble. I _want_ to help you, okay buddy?” 

Castiel nods, opening his mouth to answer him but coughing instead. He hears Dean _tsk_ , and watches as he searches through the cabinets until he finds a glass. Dean pours a glass of water from the faucet and brings it to Castiel, along with a box of medicine. “First off, you’re gonna take this medicine and drink this glass of water, so we can keep you hydrated.” 

Castiel watches as Dean struggles to open the foil on the medicine, and dutifully holds his hand out when Dean offers the pills and glass to him. Dean stands there and waits while Castiel drinks, taking the glass from him and walking back into the kitchen when he’s done. Castiel closes his eyes, willing the meds to do their magic as soon as possible, and pulls his blanket up under his chin as he starts to shiver again.

“You’re not on another one of your _vegan_ kicks or anything, are you?” Dean calls over from the kitchen.

Castiel manages to croak out “No,” as his teeth chatter.

“Good, because I just so happen to make the best pot of chicken noodle soup that you will probably ever taste, so prepare your tastebuds.”

Castiel tries to answer but can only muster a “Mmmpf” as he tries to burrow further under his blanket. _How is it possible for someone to be this cold?_

He opens his eyes again when he hears Dean clear his throat, and finds the man standing in front of him again. “You like orange juice?” Dean asks.

“Yes, I guess,” Castiel replies, wishing there was a way he could talk without using his throat, which he’d gladly rip out of his neck if he could.

Dean nods, holding another glass in front of him full of orange juice. “Drink up. The vitamin C will do you some good.”

Castiel wants to be a good patient for Dean, but the thought of swallowing more things right now makes him want to cry. “Could you just set it on the coffee table? My throat hurts so much right now I don’t think I can swallow anything.”

Dean looks at him for a beat, and leans over to wipe the hair off his forehead. The gesture is gentle, _fond_ , and if Castiel had any of his wits about him he would most likely have a herd of butterflies stampeding in his stomach, but all he can do is stare up at Dean, lost in the green of his eyes. “Sure thing, Cas. I’ve got some throat spray too that might help.”

Castiel nods, grateful that Dean knows his throat hurts too much to speak, so now he doesn’t have to. When Dean brings the throat spray to him, Castiel dutifully sprays it into his mouth and swallows it down, grimacing at the strong cherry taste, but not minding it so much when his throat becomes slightly numb. If only it could make him forget he has a throat completely he’d be happy.

Closing his eyes again, Castiel nods off to the sounds of Dean fumbling around in his kitchen. He wakes every so often when he hears a particularly loud noise, the clacking of metal pots together or the rush of water in the faucet, but for the most part he dozes fitfully. The medication Dean had him take starts working eventually, or as much as it can given the severity of the flu. Instead of feeling unbearable, Castiel now thinks he might possibly survive.

Things begin to become blurry after that. Castiel knows at one point Dean woke him up long enough to ask if he owned a humidifier, and Castiel pointed him towards the closet in the hallway. He woke again when he felt a hand cross his forehead, and he opened his eyes to see Dean sitting on the coffee table in front of him. “Just checking on your fever,” Dean murmured, brow furrowed with concern. 

Castiel wonders briefly if he’s worse off than he’d originally thought, thinks at least he has a paramedic watching over him, then falls back to sleep.

The next time he wakes, it’s with Dean’s hand on his shoulder, gently nudging him. “Hey Cas, you need to wake up and eat something.”

Castiel tries to push him away, but he’s so weak and out of it he barely lifts his arm at all. “I’m not hungry,” he hears himself say, surprised at how awful and raspy his voice sounds.

“I didn’t ask if you’re hungry,” Dean responds. “I don’t care if you don’t think you’re hungry, you need to get something on your stomach or you’re gonna start puking up this medicine.”

“I don’t think I can swallow food,” Castiel whispers. He tries to sit up twice before he’s successful, albeit with Dean’s help.

Once he’s got Castiel upright and tucks his blanket around his shoulders, Dean says, “That’s why I’m awesome. I made you chicken noodle soup, but the chicken is shredded so fine you can hardly see it, and the noodles are these tiny little pasta stars. And the carrots and everything else are shredded just like the chicken, so it’ll be like you’re just drinking broth, practically.”

Castiel eyes him suspiciously. “That sounds like it would take forever to make,” he croaks. “What time is it?”

Dean shoots him a grin over his shoulder as he walks into the kitchen. “Uh, it’s just after ten.”

“Ten? At _night_?” At Dean’s nod, Castiel says, “I can’t believe I was able to sleep that long. Was I out the whole time?”

Dean smiles again as he uses a ladle to pour soup from the giant pot on the stove into a mug. “Pretty much. Told ya I knew how to take care of flu patients. I got my hands on the good meds.”

He grabs a paper towel, pours another glass of water, and carries the glass and the mug back into the den. He sets the glass of water down on the end table closest to Castiel, and hands the mug of soup to him. “Drink up. I think I got it at just the right temperature—just warm enough to soothe your throat, but not so hot it’ll burn your tongue.”

Castiel takes a sip of the soup, wincing at first because of how much his throat still hurts, but the warmth of the liquid soon lessens the pain. Dean was right, it is the perfect temperature. Dean sits down in the chair closest to Castiel’s end of the couch, and watches as Castiel takes sips from the mug. Castiel would feel self-conscious about being watched so closely, but he still feels so poorly that he can’t seem to muster the strength to care.

After several minutes of sitting in silence as he drinks his soup, Castiel asks, “Have you always been this good at taking care of people?”

In the dim light of his den, Castiel can see the flush of Dean’s cheeks as he glances up at Castiel and then quickly looks away. He smiles, and it’s almost bashful, and it’s ridiculous but Castiel suddenly feels his heart stand up and declare an oath of allegiance to Dean Winchester. “I guess so,” Dean says, shrugging. “I used to like taking care of my little brother when he got sick. It made me feel useful.”

Castiel keeps drinking his soup, and watches Dean glance around his apartment. He feels exposed watching the man notice things, his books on the bookcase, his pictures on the walls. He feels like Dean is seeing something inside him that he doesn’t show to people very often. “Well, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me tonight,” he says. “I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have you.”

“I feel the same,” Dean replies, and seems to be taken aback at what he said. Castiel watches as Dean glances around the room quickly, and begins fidgeting as if he’s suddenly nervous. _What an odd thing to say_ , Castiel thinks. But he figures it must be like those awkward exchanges one has, like if a security agent at the airport tells you _Have a safe flight_ , and you respond _You, too!_

Dean suddenly stands up, walking over to Castiel’s bookcase. “You got some cool-sounding books here,” he says, pulling one off the shelf. “ _World War Z_? Is that what the movie is based on?”

“The movie is almost _nothing_ like the book,” Castiel replies, feeling an old irritation bubbling to the surface again despite how sick he is. “The book is so much better, Dean. Since you like The Walking Dead, I highly recommend you read the book.”

“Cool,” Dean says, looking intrigued. “I’ll pick a copy up next time I go to the bookstore.” He begins to set the book back onto the shelf, but Castiel stops him.

“You can borrow my copy,” he says. “I’d love to hear what you think about the book, and this way if you have a copy you can start reading it now.”

Dean smiles, pleased. “You sure? I wouldn’t wanna borrow it if it’s got some special meaning or anything. I can be pretty forgetful about returning things I borrow, you know.”

Castiel returns the smile. “The only special meaning it has is it’s a book I enjoyed. And now it’ll have more special meaning in that I get to share that enjoyment with you. Besides, if you borrow it, if gives me a reason to see you again sometime.” Castiel surprises himself by saying this; he doesn’t want to push things with Dean or scare him off. Hopefully, he can blame it on the flu or the medication.

But Dean surprises him even more when he replies, “We don’t need a reason to see each other, Cas. I’ll always want to see you.”

They stare at each other, both silent and hesitant, until Castiel starts coughing again. The medication must finally be wearing off, because he has trouble stopping the cough once it starts, and Dean rushes to the kitchen, returning with his hands full of medication.

“Here, it’s time for another dose of your flu meds,” he says, handing the dose to Castiel along with a glass of water. “Why don’t you go ahead and use some more throat spray too, that numbness has to have worn off by now.”

He stands in front of Castiel and watches as the man does his bidding, then he sets his empty glass onto the coffee table. “Look, Cas, I think I’m gonna head out now.” Castiel does his best to hide his disappointment as Dean continues. “It’s getting late, and those meds are gonna start kicking in soon, so you’re gonna need to get as much rest as you can.”

“Okay, Dean, I understand. I really cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”

Dean brushes his words off as he pulls his keys out of his pocket. “Don’t worry about it, man. Look, I’m gonna put all your medicine here on your coffee table. You’ve still got most of a carton of orange juice left in the fridge. I’m going to turn the stove off so you don’t have to worry about it catching fire, but don’t forget to pop the soup in the fridge if you’re not going to have anymore tonight. I got you some fruit to eat too, in case you’re craving it, and I don’t know if you like soda, but I know I always crave something carbonated when my throat hurts, so I brought you some ginger ale, too.”

Castiel nods as he tries to absorb Dean’s list of instructions. He’s starting to get tired again, and the medication is beginning to take effect, so he feels he could fall asleep mid-sentence. “I’ll walk you to the door,” he’s able to slur, his voice barely above a croak.

Dean laughs softly. “Dude, you can barely sit up straight. Don’t worry about it, I’ll see myself out.”

Castiel’s eyes droop as he watches Dean walk to the door, borrowed book in hand. He calls after him, “Dean!” and when Dean turns around he continues, “Could you maybe stop by tomorrow? If you’re not busy?”

Dean smiles and winks. “Sure thing, Cas. I was already planning on it.”

He locks and closes the door behind him, and Castiel lets himself sag into the pillow as he smiles, picturing green eyes winking back at him before he falls to sleep.

***************************************

When he wakes the next morning, Castiel is disappointed to find he doesn’t feel much better than the night before, which is to say, he still feels like death warmed over twice. He still has a fever and chills, and his skin is tender and raw to the touch. Eating something sounds unappetizing, but he forces down a slice of toast and a banana, so he can take his meds without throwing them back up.

Still feeling annoyingly weak, he decides against taking a shower, knowing that it’s pushing his luck to hope he won’t pass out while standing under the hot, steaming water he craves. Instead, he climbs into a warm, soaking bath, wanting to finally get warm and be rid of these chills and to soothe his aching body. He brings his phone into the bathroom with him, hoping to get a text from Dean, since he’d been disappointed to find nothing from him when he first woke up.

He doesn’t stay in the bath for as long as he’d like, mostly because he’s afraid of falling asleep or passing out. It’d be just his luck to pass out and have to call the paramedics, with Dean coming to his rescue again. Castiel is frustrated with how weak he is; although he’s always been the studious sort, he’s also been proud of his endurance and strength, and has never been a good patient when injured or incapacitated. But instead of pushing himself to do more than he knows he should, Castiel wraps himself up in his house robe and a blanket, shuffling back into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. 

He opens the fridge while he waits for the kettle to steam, and stares at the giant pot of soup that Dean made for him. It will take him days to consume all of it. Dean must have spent hours chopping and shredding everything up into such tiny pieces, not to mention all the money he spent on the food and medicine. He’s such a giving soul, it’s no wonder he ended up working in the medical field. Someone with a heart as big as Dean’s would always want to help people, and try to make the world a better place.

Feeling his eyes grow misty from the thought of Dean’s generosity, Castiel pulls the pot out of the fridge, and throws it on the stove, wondering what happened to him that a pot of soup could almost make him cry. He realizes then he probably doesn’t want to think too hard on the reason. And besides, being sick could make anyone more emotional.

He turns the stove to low, so that the soup will take its time warming up, and heads back into the den where he plops down on the couch. He grabs the TV remote and flips the channels until he finds a cheesy sci-fi movie, turns the volume to low, and snuggles into his pillow. He makes room on the other end of the couch when Professor Cat comes out of hiding to meow from the floor. Once the little mongrel kneads himself a spot on the blanket and between Castiel’s feet, Castiel lays his head back down. He opens an eye long enough to make sure his cell phone is close by, spies it on the coffee table in front of him, and promptly falls back to sleep.

He wakes about forty-five minutes later to his phone buzzing on the table. When he checks it, he finds a text from Dean:

> Dean: _Hey buddy, got a slow moment at work, wanted to check in. How’re you feeling?_  
> 

Castiel takes a moment to have one of his coughing fits before replying,

> Cas: _I think I feel about the same. Possibly marginally better. Thank you again for coming over last night. ___  
> 

> Dean: _Don’t worry about it, I was happy to do it. You need anything when I come over tonight?_  
> 

Castiel tries and fails to curb the happy, excited flutter in his stomach. Dean mentions visiting again so easily, as if they’re so familiar that he does it all the time.

> Cas: _No thank you, I believe you brought everything I could possibly need last night._ He hesitates before adding, _Really, you don’t need to come over if you don’t want to, I’m sure I’ll be fine_.

He hates himself for adding that last bit, mostly because if Dean takes him up on it he will be distraught and will have nothing to look forward to or that will get his mind off of feeling so awful.

> Dean: _Nah man, I wanna come over. Even sick you is better than most other company or being alone. Plus I know how boring being sick can be, so don’t want you doing yourself in just because you’ve got nothing else to do_  
> 

Castiel wonders how Dean’s girlfriend would feel if she knew he’d said something like that, but he doesn’t comment on it. Maybe Cassie is out of town for work again, and Dean just doesn’t want to be alone. That would explain a lot.

> Dean: _So what time you want me to come over? I should get off work around 7_  
> 

> Cas: _Feel free to come over whenever you want. My sleep schedule is already out of sorts, so I doubt I’ll be going to bed at my normal time tonight anyways_  
> 

> Dean: _Lol ok Professor, wouldn’t want to disrupt your nighttime rituals_  
> 

> Cas: _You shouldn’t make fun of the infirm, Dean_  
> 

> Dean: _I like living on the edge and doing things I shouldn’t. Maybe you should try it some time ;D_  
> 

> Cas: _I would but I’m too busy HAVING THE FLU_  
> 

> Dean: _Lol get some sleep, Professor. I’ll see you soon_  
> 

> Cas: _Goodbye Dean_

***************************************

Just like he did twenty-four hours earlier, Castiel wakes from his nap on the couch to the sound of knocking at his door. Professor Cat runs into Castiel’s bedroom and jumps on his bed, as Castiel stumbles his way to the door. When he opens it he finds a smiling Dean on the other side, pizza in one hand and a bag of something in the other.

Castiel watches as Dean’s eyes travel down his body, and when he looks down himself, he remembers that he’s wearing just a pair of tight boxers and a faded blue t-shirt, with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He tries to cover himself up a bit more, but Dean just laughs.

“This feels like it should be the start of some cheesy porno.” 

Castiel can feel himself blushing, but he hopes that it can be excused away by the flush from the fever he still has. “If it were, I think I’d have a lot less phlegm.”

“Dude. Ew,” Dean groans, walking through the doorway and setting the pizza and bag down on Castiel’s dining table. “Don’t ever mention phlegm when I’m about to dive into a Meatsa Pizza.” He walks into the kitchen and pulls two plates out of the first cabinet he opens, obviously remembering where the dishes were from last night. “I took a chance that you might have a better appetite than last night, also that you liked a lot of meat…” He turns and winks lewdly at Castiel. “…On your pizza.”

Castiel huffs at Dean’s lame joke, but the huffing turns into coughing, and he has to brace himself against a chair to get through the fit. He’s already so sore from all the coughing he half wonders if he’s going to end up with cracked ribs before he’s over this. “I do like meat pizza,” he says between hacks, “but I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to eat. Plus, I’ve been eating a lot of your soup all day.”

Dean shoots him a pleased look and shrugs. “No biggie. That just means more pizza for me.” He pulls a six-pack of beer out of the brown bag he brought. “You up for a beer?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Sadly, no. Between the fever and the meds, I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, I figured, but didn’t want to be rude by not offering.”

They fill their plates and grab their drinks—water for Castiel—before sitting down on the sofa. They eat a few bites in silence before Castiel thinks to ask, “How was work today?” He cringes inwardly at how domestic the question sounded, and hopes that Dean doesn’t pick up on it and become uncomfortable. He definitely doesn’t want Dean to worry that he’s given Castiel the wrong idea.

Dean just shrugs though, and doesn’t look bothered by the question at all. “It was okay. Had a diabetic run, one heart attack, and one kid who fell off the monkey bars. Pretty tame, all things considered.”

Castiel chews thoughtfully on his bite of pizza. “I’m glad it was a fairly non-eventful day for you.”

“Probably not as non-eventful as yours, though,” Dean smirks at him between bites.

“I don’t know,” Castiel replies. “Coughing up a fifth lung when most people only have two was pretty exciting.”

Dean chokes on his bite, laughing. He has to cough to clear his throat, and takes a swig of beer to wash it down. “Warn a guy next time before you do that. Or at least let it be liquid in my mouth, so I can do a real spittake instead of choking to death.” He smiles at Castiel, his face red and eyes gleaming as he reaches over and pats him on the shoulder. His hand lingers, thumb rubbing a few circles before letting go.

Castiel wonders just how quickly Dean can get drunk from beer, because he’s obviously feeling the effects when he’s barely finished his first one.

“So, you up for a movie tonight?” Dean asks.

“I suppose. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s no zombie movie, but given the circumstances I figured it was appropriate.” He walks over to the dining table and pulls a DVD out of the bag he’d carried in. When he reveals the cover, Castiel bursts out laughing.

“ _Contagion_? Isn’t that a little _too_ on the nose?” he says, grinning.

Dean walks over to the TV and pops the disc into the DVD player. “Nah, I think it’s perfect,” he replies. “Besides, have you ever seen this movie? It’s pretty cool. And scares the fuck out of me.”

Castiel watches as Dean grabs the remote and starts the movie, settling back into the couch. He notices that Dean sits a couple inches closer than he was sitting before, but he chalks that up to beer and just not paying attention to what he’s doing. But even if it’s not intentional, Castiel allows himself to revel in the feel of Dean’s closeness, even if only for the length of the movie, and even if it’s only accidental.

Castiel falls asleep about halfway through the movie. The last thing he remembers is Kate Winslet’s character starting to get sick; next thing he knows, he’s opening his eyes to find he’s fallen asleep on Dean’s shoulder, who’s also fallen asleep with his head resting against the back of the couch.

When Castiel raises his head, it seems to stir Dean awake, and he opens his eyes and smiles sleepily at Castiel. 

“I wasn’t snoring, was I?” he asks quietly, his voice rough from disuse.

Castiel shakes his head. “No, was I? I hope I didn’t bother you by falling asleep on you.”

Dean continues to smile at him, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Nah, you were fine. I didn’t have the heart to wake you up and move you, though. You seemed pretty out of it.”

“The flu meds you got me make me pretty groggy,” Castiel agrees. He glances at the TV, finding a home reno show on with the volume turned down. “How long was I asleep?”

Dean shrugs and stares at the screen. “Couple hours, I think. I dunno, I ended up falling asleep watching HGTV.”

Castiel is surprised to find out that much time has passed. “Dean, you should have woken me up or moved me. You shouldn’t have to stay here half the night again watching over me.”

Dean looks at him, his face serious and still a bit groggy from sleep. “I like watching over you.”

Castiel doesn’t understand what’s going on here. He’s never been very good at reading other people, the nuances of human interaction going over his head. But this isn’t the first time he’s felt Dean was trying to convey a hidden meaning to him, something that he just can’t quite grasp because he’s too afraid to consider a possibility other than the one he’s told himself must be so. He’s told himself from the very beginning of their friendship that he must never read anything romantic into what Dean says or does, but the more Dean looks at him like that as he says things like _this_ , the harder it gets to continue denying his hope.

At the moment, Castiel’s head hurts too much to even consider asking Dean what the subtext is, so he decides to just continue pretending there’s nothing else there. “You must be tired though, I know I am. You should go home and get some sleep.”

Dean’s brows furrow in confusion for a moment, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but then he shakes his head. “Yeah, you’re probably right. It is pretty late.”

He gets up from the couch, picking up their used dishes and carrying them into the kitchen. He sets the dishes in the sink, runs some water over them, and walks back into the den, keys in hand. Feeling a little better than last night, Castiel gets up and walks Dean to the door.

“I guess Cassie will be getting back into town soon, won’t she?”

Castiel had no idea he was going to say this until he hears the words leave his mouth, and Dean turns around and gives him another confused look. 

“What makes you think she’s out of town?”

Castiel shrugs, opening the door for Dean. “I just figured she must be, since you’ve had so much free time to come over here.”

Dean fidgets with the car keys in his hand. “Uh, she might be out of town, I dunno. We broke up about a month ago.”

Castiel stares at Dean in shock. “I’m… _sorry_?” He has no idea what the etiquette is in a situation like this, where your new friend, maybe _best_ friend, who only became your friend because you approached him at a wedding and asked him out, and he said he had a girlfriend but then you started texting, and now you keep maybe flirting, and he’s the nicest anyone has ever been to you, and he made you homemade chicken _soup_ for God’s sake, tells you he split up with said girlfriend. Do you say you’re sorry when a part of you isn’t sorry at all? 

Dean bites the side of his lip. “No reason to be sorry. We’d been growing apart for a while. We both realized we weren’t in love anymore, and…well, some other stuff kinda happened. It’s…weird, but we’re still friends. And I think we’re both happier.”

Once again, they stare at each other for several beats before Dean clears his throat. “Anyway, that’s why I seem to have more free time, I guess.”

“Still though, it must be hard?” Castiel ventures.

Dean gives him a half-smile. “It’s actually really not. Especially not…now.”

Castiel can feel his heart start beating faster, and he wonders of it’s some side effect of the flu or the medicine he’s been taking, but really, he knows the truth, knows it’s because that tiny flame of hope in his heart is starting to flicker and get bigger. He opens his mouth to ask what Dean means, but then another coughing fit wracks his body. He holds onto the door for balance, and suddenly feels Dean’s hand rubbing his back soothingly.

“Hey man, just breathe, take it slow.”

After half a minute or so Castiel is able to stop coughing, but now he has tears running down his face and his nose is perilously close to start dripping, as well. He tries to say something to Dean, but the man interrupts him.

“Look, I’m gonna go, okay? You need to take some more medicine and get some rest, and I need to get home and get some sleep. I’ll text you tomorrow to see how you’re doing, okay?”

Castiel nods, afraid to say much more than, “Okay, good night, Dean, and thank you again.”

“No problem, buddy. Take care of yourself.”

Castiel didn’t know it was possible, but he thinks he may have just been coughblocked.

***************************************

Waking up the next morning isn’t quite as painful as the day before for Castiel. At some point during the night, amid a lot of sweating and tossing and turning, his fever broke. Castiel is still exhausted, still aching all over, and still has the cough of the damned, but at least he no longer has the fever or chills.

He forces himself to get up and shower first thing, loathing how gritty and damp his skin feels after sweating the night away. When he steps out of the shower he feels, for the first time in days, halfway to human again. He’s weak, but he can finally see the end of this tunnel of sickness. He pulls his bedsheets off and stuffs them into the washing machine, knowing there’s no way he wants to sleep on the sweat-soaked sheets tonight.

Castiel realizes his appetite is returning when his stomach gives a rumble, so he musters the strength to cook up an omelet, wanting to use the onions and bell peppers that have been sitting in his fridge for almost a week. As he’s cooking, he pulls out the pot of Dean’s chicken soup and sets it on a back burner of the stove on low, thinking he’ll drink up the rest of it throughout the day today. It really has been a lifesaver for him while sick, and he makes a mental note to bake Dean a pie or something to show thanks.

At the thought of Dean, Castiel’s stomach gives a flutter. He wonders when he’ll hear from him today, and whether he’ll stop back by tonight. He checks his phone to make sure he’s not missed a message from him, but there’s no new notifications. 

Castiel wonders why Dean hadn’t told him about Cassie before last night. He would have thought they’d become close enough over the summer to talk about things like that, but maybe he’s wrong. They never had talked much about relationships, current or past, beforehand, but still. It would’ve seemed like a breakup with your girlfriend of a couple years was important enough to at least mention.

Maybe he and Dean aren’t as close as Castiel assumed. It would be easy to misconstrue a friendship that existed mostly through text messages, especially if one wasn’t as well-versed in friendships to begin with, as is the case with Castiel. Or maybe this just isn’t something Dean would share with his male friends anyways. Relationship talk does seem to fall under the topic of _feelings_ , and Castiel knows from hearing others talk, and from what he sees on TV and movies, that guys don’t normally discuss their feelings with each other. Although, with the admittedly few male friends he’s had, he’s never had an issue broaching that topic before.

But even if they aren’t close enough to discuss such personal things, that doesn’t change the fact that Dean is no longer involved with someone else. Dean is _single_. Within all of Castiel’s interactions with Dean since they first started texting, there was always the safety net of knowing that they were just friends, that nothing more could possibly happen or be happening. At first it had been disappointing, because Castiel _is_ attracted to Dean, and does want more, but it soon became a comfort for Castiel. He hasn’t had to worry about the impression he’s making with Dean because he hasn’t been trying to convince Dean to date him. He has been able to just enjoy Dean for himself, and enjoy being himself with Dean.

But somewhere along the way Castiel fell in love with Dean.

If he’s being completely honest with himself, he probably fell in love the moment he spotted Dean across the dance floor, as cliché as it may sound. He saw Dean, and he was lost. But he’d been happy to just be friends with the man; or at least, he was content. Now though…now there might be a potential for more, and the thought makes Castiel as nervous as he was when he first got up the courage to approach Dean that first night he saw him at the wedding.

Castiel’s thoughts are interrupted when his phone buzzes from the coffee table, and he jumps up to retrieve it.

> Dean: _Hey Cas, the dude who’s supposed to relieve me tonight just called in sick. Looks like that flu bug of yours is making the rounds, so I’m gonna have to pull a double shift. I’d been thinking of stopping by to check on you tonight but it’s not gonna happen. You doing ok?_  
> 

Castiel’s excitement at getting a text from Dean is quickly replaced with disappointment at the knowledge that he won’t see him again tonight.

> Cas: _Yes Dean, I’m feeling quite a bit better than last night. I should be fine without you checking in on me again_  
> 

> Dean: _OK cool, look I gotta go, things are really hoppin here today. I’ll text you later to check up on you if I get a chance_  
> 

> Cas: _Sure, Dean, don’t worry about me though, I’ll be fine. I appreciate the thought. Have a good shift_  
> 

> Dean: _Thanks man, get some rest_  
> 

> Cas: _I will, thank you_  
> 

> Dean: _;)_  
> 

Well, that settles the question of whether he’ll see Dean again tonight. Castiel throws his phone down onto the table, wincing at the impact it makes. A part of him wonders if Dean was just making an excuse to not stop by. He wouldn’t blame the man if he was tired of dealing with this sickly person he’s only known a few months. But Castiel stops himself from continuing that line of thought, because it’s not fair to Dean. Castiel knows just from the limited time he’s spent with the man that Dean would never avoid a friend like that, especially not one that’s ill and in need of help.

He leans back against the couch cushions, and Professor Cat meows at his feet. When Castiel moves his hands from his lap, the cat jumps up and begins kneading his legs, making himself as comfortable as possible before settling down to go back to sleep. Castiel pets the cat’s fur distractedly, his brain still fuzzy from the flu and all the medications he’s been taking. He feels just better enough to not want to lay around and do nothing all day but sleep and cough, and as he glances around the apartment, he realizes the place is really overdue for some straightening up.

A plan for the day in place, Castiel shoos the cat off his legs and stands up, making his way into the kitchen to start his chores there. He begins by cleaning up after the breakfast he’d made for himself, stopping for a moment to take an ibuprofen to try to keep his fever at bay. He eyes the pot of soup warming on the back burner of the stove, and his mind starts to wander to Dean before he shakes his head abruptly. _No more distractions until you’ve done your cleaning for the day_ , he reminds himself.

An hour later, Castiel is so exhausted he feels he could sleep for days. He’s dismayed at how quickly just a little bit of cleaning has exhausted him, and he collapses on the nearest chair to catch his breath. At this rate, he can’t help but wonder how long it’ll be until he’s fit enough to go running again, if just vacuuming can make him out of breath. But glancing around the den, he’s pleased with what little he was able to do. As he’s looking around, Professor Cat jumps onto the sofa, and the beams of sunlight streaming through the blinds reveal tiny cat hairs floating through the air. “Ah, now I’m remembering why I’ve not gotten a pet before, you hairy beast,” Castiel mutters. He sighs, figures the cat already has his tiny claws embedded in his heart, so there’s no use fighting it now.

He leans his head back, and closes his eyes. But as tempting as taking a nap is, especially with how strung out he feels, Castiel decides he needs to do his best to stay awake. He’s dismayed that his sleeping schedule is so out of whack, what with the school year starting so soon, so he needs to do what he can now to fix it. He considers for a moment what to do that won’t be physically exhausting but that would keep him awake, and suddenly he realizes it’s been several days since he’s watched an episode of The Walking Dead.

With a blueprint for the rest of the day in mind, Castiel walks back into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich and a mug of Dean’s soup, and then curls up on the sofa to continue his walker marathon.

As the day wears on, Castiel checks his phone every once in a while, hoping maybe he’d just not heard his phone buzz with a text or phone call, but every time he checks there’s no new notification. He tries not to think about it, but as day turns into night, he can’t help but worry. What if Dean really is avoiding him? Maybe he realizes he may have given Castiel the wrong idea about their friendship. Castiel doesn’t even know if Dean is interested in men—all he knows is that he _is_ attracted to women.

He chews on his lip as he worries about having scared Dean off when his phone rings. He almost knocks it clear across the room when he reaches for it, but is disappointed when he sees that it’s Gabriel calling.

“Hello, Gabriel.”

“Hey, cuz, how’s it hangin’? You still got the plague?”

Castiel snorts, which then makes him cough.

“Awww, yep, still all plagued up. Well, I’m back in town, so I thought I’d call and see if you needed anything.”

Once Castiel can stop coughing, he responds. “No, thank you, I _am_ feeling better, though I know I don’t sound it. Besides, I think Dean brought everything I needed the other evening when he came over.”

“Uhhh, and who is Dean? He’s not that wedding guy you met, is he?”

Castiel sighs. “Yes, he’s the wedding guy.”

“Cassie, don’t go barking up that tree. That tree is a fucking Redwood, as far as you’re concerned. Straight up, and unclimbable.”

“How do you know?” Castiel grumbles, rolling his eyes. “You’ve never even met him. Maybe the woman Dean was seeing was just a fluke. Or there is such a thing as bisexual, you know.”

“Oh trust me, I know _all_ the colors of that flag, my friend, but—wait, did you say _was_ seeing? Does that mean what I think it means?”

Castiel groans. He’s really too tired to have this conversation with Gabriel right now, or ever. “Yes. Dean and Cassie broke up a month ago.”

“Wait, wait, _wait_. Dean’s girlfriend’s name was _Cassie_?”

Dammit. Castiel really should have been more careful with his words.

Gabriel laughs long and hard. “This is too perfect. Holy shit, somebody upstairs has got a wicked sense of humor, I mean, if you—”

“Gabriel, please, this isn’t funny,” Castiel pleads. Actually, he does in fact know it’s slightly amusing, but if he doesn’t get Gabriel under control and thinking about something else, he could riff on this all night.

Gabriel continues laughing for a few seconds as he tries to calm himself down. “Ahhh, man, anyways, soooo what? Has he decided to take a walk on the schlong side?”

“Ugh, why do you have to be so lewd all the time?” Castiel complains. “And no, I mean… I don’t know. We’re friends. I didn’t even know he’d broken up with his girlfriend until he’d made a comment last night as he was leaving.”

“Leaving? So he came over two nights in a row?”

Castiel nods, remembers that Gabriel can’t see him nodding through the phone, and answers, “Yes. He wanted to check up on me. And we watched a movie.”

“Hmmm. But he hasn’t said anything ever about liking dick, or about the two of you hooking up, or…?” He lets his question hang in the air, waiting for Castiel to pick up on it.

“No, nothing like that. It’s just been…friends, I guess.” Now that Castiel is saying the words out loud, he realizes he’s had nothing to really base any hope upon. They’re friends. That’s all it has been.

Gabriel sighs through the phone. “Cas, I’m sorry, but I gotta give you the protective big cousin spiel. You need to protect yourself, and don’t get your hopes up. I mean, I dunno… I’ve not met the guy, but it sounds to me like you guys are just friends, and I’d hate to see you get hurt and maybe lose a friend by getting the wrong idea.”

Castiel rubs a hand over his eyes. “Yes, Gabriel, I know. You’re right. And I haven't gotten my hopes up, not really.” He can almost feel himself deflating as if it were a physical thing.

“You know I don’t like to be the party-pooper. But, you know, most guys, if they were bi, I think he woulda said something before now. And from everything you’ve told me, he sounds about as straight as they come. So to speak.”

Castiel snorts at Gabriel’s pun, despite himself. “Yes, I agree. And I’ll watch myself more carefully from now on. Because, you’re right, I don’t want to lose his friendship. He’s…Dean’s become a very good friend to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds like he’s one of the good ones, especially if he came over and hung out with your snotty ass,” Gabriel replies, and then there’s some muffled speaking in the background as Gabriel holds a hand over the phone. When he comes back on the line, he continues, “Look, Kali’s getting antsy to go out to dinner, so I gotta go. But you let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Yes, thank you, Gabriel. For everything,” Castiel answers. 

They say their goodbyes, and Castiel hangs up the phone. He looks over at Professor Cat, who has been watching the entire conversation from his perch on the other end of Castiel’s blanket. “Well, at least I didn’t have too long to get my hopes up, right?”

The cat just stares at him, blinks, throws a hind leg up, and begins licking its butt. “Too true, Cat. Too true,” Castiel agrees.

He takes his mind off his conversation with Gabriel by heating up a frozen dinner for supper, and finishing off season four of The Walking Dead. Earlier in the day, he’d been excited about getting caught up with Dean in the episode count, hoping that maybe they could watch some episodes together, but now he’s not feeling as optimistic. Still though, the finale has him on the edge of his seat, and the temptation of watching the premiere of season five is almost greater than the pull of sleep.

He remembers about wanting to repair his sleep schedule though, so he forces himself to turn off the TV and go to bed. He makes sure to grab his phone, which has been suspiciously quiet all evening, and plugs it into the charger by his bed. Castiel knows Dean said they’d been busy all day, and if he’s having to do a double shift and cover for someone tonight he’s most likely tired, and if he’s not busy he’s probably trying to get any sleep when he can. 

But Castiel still can’t help but be disappointed that Dean hasn’t texted. He squashes down any frustration other than the disappointment of not hearing from a friend, and does his best to chalk it up to a bit of loneliness and being a little stir crazy from being cooped up the past few days. Another tiny part of his brain is whispering in the back of his mind though, telling him he best get used to not hearing from Dean because odds are he’ll be out dating again, and days or weeks may go by without a word from him. 

He’s grateful that he decided to take some cough medicine before going to bed. Otherwise the wheels churning in his brain would keep him up half the night. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, the medicine pulls him under, where he dreams of zombies and an urgent need for chicken noodle soup.

***************************************

Castiel wakes early the next morning to his phone vibrating against his nightstand. He opens one eye and fumbles a hand out, knocking over a book and thankfully just barely missing his glass of water. When he detaches the phone from its charger, he sees the name “Dean,” and spares a moment to wonder why Dean would be calling him at seven-thirty in the morning.

“Hello? Dean?”

“Cas! You must fuckin’ sleep like the dead! I was worried sick, man!”

Castiel throws the covers off himself and sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. “Dean, is everything okay? Why are you calling me so early?”

“Dude, get your sleepy ass outta bed and answer the door, your neighbor is giving me the stinkeye through her blinds.”

Castiel can feel the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Why? Are you at my door? Dean, why are you at my door?”

Dean laughs. “Come to the door and find out, Cas.”

Castiel climbs out of his bed, pausing for a moment to make sure he’s clothed. Thankfully, he’s wearing his usual boxers and t-shirt, so he walks out into his den, listening on the phone to Dean’s breathing and something rustling like paper in the background. When he unlocks the door and opens it, Dean is standing there, holding a large paper bag in one hand, a beverage container with two cups in the other, and the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder.

“Hello,” Castiel says into his phone, while staring at Dean.

“Hey,” Dean says, staring back with a smirk. He looks up at Castiel’s hair and grins, and Castiel realizes he must have the usual bedhead that tends to befall him if he’s not careful.

“I’m hanging up now,” Castiel replies, squinting at Dean.

“Good call,” Dean replies.

Castiel turns his phone off, and takes the beverage holder from Dean so that he can grab his own phone and turn it off. Dean follows him inside and closes the door behind himself. “Sorry to wake you up,” he says, dropping the bag on the dining table.

“That’s… okay,” Castiel says. “I needed to wake up anyways.” He stares at Dean for several beats. “Excuse me for a moment,” he adds, and escapes to the bathroom. When he gets a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he finds that he does indeed have a serious case of bedhead. He grimaces at his reflection, tries to pat his hair down as much as he quickly can, and then brushes his teeth for a few seconds. Once he’s done relieving himself and washing his hands, he returns to the kitchen to find Dean grabbing plates and utensils.

“I brought over some breakfast for us. I hoped I’d catch you before you ate, so at least I got that right, huh?” Dean smiles and winks at him as he pulls a couple styrofoam containers out of the bag. “I hope you like pancakes, and scrambled eggs and bacon. I got that and some biscuits, too. Figured I’d get enough stuff I’d be bound to hit on something you’d like.”

Castiel wants to be appreciative, and just sit down and enjoy the meal and spending some time with a friend, he really does. But he’s still not feeling very well, and he’s still half asleep and groggy from his medicine and the flu, so he can’t stop himself from asking, “Why are you here, Dean?”

Dean glances up, a confused and wary look on his face. “Uh, what do you mean? Do the breakfast foods not clue you in enough?”

“No, I mean, why are you _here_? This morning, with me,” Castiel explains. Dean stares back at him, his eyes so very green in the morning light. “What is this, Dean?”

Dean sets down the platter in his hands, looks at the table, and sighs. “I came here because I wanted to see you. I didn’t get to come over last night, and I missed you, Cas.”

Castiel concentrates very hard on the wall behind Dean, because he’s afraid if he looks at Dean he’ll take the few steps towards him and kiss him, and he doesn’t want to be the one to initiate anything. Not until he’s very, very _sure_ of what’s happening here.

“Why?”

Dean blinks. “Why? Why what?”

“Why did you miss me?”

Dean huffs. “You need me to spell it out for you? Is that what this is?” At Castiel’s nod, he continues. “Okay. I missed you because in just a couple months, you’ve become the best friend I think I’ve ever had.” 

Castiel sucks in a breath, and looks down at the table, but he's forced to look up again when Dean leans down to catch his eye before continuing.

“I missed you because during those months I started to realize you were the person I wanted to talk to more than anybody else. I missed you because when I ran into you at the bookstore, I felt like I’d won the fuckin’ lottery, I was so happy to see you. And I didn’t even realize, man. I didn’t realize it when Cassie and I broke up because we’d drifted apart and I felt like it just wasn’t enough anymore, like I suddenly _knew_ there was more out there for me, but I couldn’t figure out why I was feeling that way. I didn’t realize it when I started dreaming about you, when I started thinking about what it’d be like to _be_ with you. I didn’t realize it until you texted me and asked me to bring you something for your flu. That was when I knew.”

Castiel had been holding that indrawn breath through everything Dean was saying, and he releases it to ask, “Knew what?”

Dean takes those few steps forward, closing the gap between the two of them. He raises a hand, cupping Castiel’s cheek. He leans into Castiel’s space, pausing long enough to look him in the eyes and smile, before brushing his lips against Castiel’s mouth. “That,” he whispers against Castiel’s lips. “That was when I knew I was supposed to be doing _that_.”

Dean leans in to kiss him again, but Castiel pulls back. “You’ll get sick, too.”

“I don’t even care,” Dean laughs. “Besides, if I get sick it just means _you_ get to take care of _me_ for a while,” he adds, with a wink.

Castiel sighs, allowing himself to feel the full effect of that wink. “Your winks are lethal, Dean Winchester,” he murmurs, pulling Dean back in for another kiss, and flu be damned.

Dean wraps his arms around Castiel, holding him tight. “Good thing I plan to only use them for good and not evil then, Professor.”

The End


End file.
